


[If All Goes Crashing Into The Sea] It's Just You and Me

by ainewrites



Series: Ships in the Night [2]
Category: Ghostbusters (2016)
Genre: F/F, but it's still a sex scene, it's non-graphic sex, prose-y and fluff, who let the ace write a sex scene?, written at 3am because apparently that's what i do now
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-08
Updated: 2017-05-08
Packaged: 2018-10-28 22:39:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10840929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ainewrites/pseuds/ainewrites
Summary: She is beautiful. She breaths Erin's name like a prayer and clutches sheets with white-knuckled fingers and exhales so sharply. She is bright and brilliant and beautiful, and she is Erin's and Erin is her's.-Erin Gilbert and Jillian Holtzmann, lost and found.





	[If All Goes Crashing Into The Sea] It's Just You and Me

**Author's Note:**

> I had a lot of fun writing You Keep Passing Me By, which is in a totally different style than I usually write, so I decided to write a sequel in the same style.

 

It has become as familiar to her as her own apartment. She knows the curve of the hallway and the flicker of the kitchen light and the tickling softness of the carpet. She knows the way the doorknob sticks and the floorboards beside the couch creak and the way the refrigerator hums loudly, white noise against the loudness of the neighbors.

The clutter has become an eccentric decoration, books in stacks, half-finished machines in corners, tools scattered across every surface. Wall painted in neon colors, tabletop with scorch marks, lamps with no lampshades.

She could navigate the apartment blindfolded.

It’s not even hers.

Jillian’s apartment is a physical manifestation of her personality, and Erin loves every second she’s in it.

-

Sometimes, Erin has nightmares.

She wakes up, the darkness an invading force, pressing down on her ribcage, twining barbed wire around her throat. She is a speck in the universe, drowning under the weight of the space above her, and she trembles and shakes, her body an earthquake.

She is a beam of light.

Jillian curls around her, skin against skin, body against body, holding her tight. She croons the periodic table like a lullaby, recites the digits of pi. She breaths science and fact into Erin’s ear, steadying her in the waves of panic.

Erin lets Jillian pull her up, because if Erin is a speck then Jillian is the sun, shining down, big and bright and brilliant and beautiful.

-

She maps Jillian’s body with her hands.

Sharp angels and straight lines give away to gentle curves, wrapped in layers of softness and muscle, all contrasts, but glorious ones.

Her body is a roadmap of scars.

Burn marks on her chest and arms and hands, slices and gashes from small poofs turned large, and Erin kisses every one. Let them guide her downwards, across the slope of her stomach and the curl of her hips and the trembling of her thighs.

She chases the heat across skin and muscle and bone, and when Jillian’s fingers curl in her hair, when Jillian gasps, soft and quiet and breathy and _wanting_ , Erin can feel the fireflies explode in her chest, lighting her body on fire.

-

She is beautiful. She breaths Erin’s name like a prayer and clutches sheets with white-knuckled fingers and exhales so sharply that Erin can feel it in her own chest. She is bright and brilliant and beautiful, and she is Erin’s and Erin is hers.

 _Don’t stop_.

-

Jillian pulls her up, and Erin lets herself get lost in the galaxies that are in her eyes. They are chest to chest, nose to nose, and Erin can feel her heart thud, thud, thud.

Beneath her palm, she can feel Jillian’s hummingbird heart, quick and strong, the rise and fall of her chest. She gasps in Erin’s ear, soft and breathy, and Erin feels heat growing low in her stomach. Liquid and flowing, a fire that Jillian lights within her.

There are fingers on her chest, sliding down her stomach, and the lips beneath hers taste of toothpaste and _wanting_.

Blonde hair and blue eyes and deep dimples and smile as bright as the sun, as beautiful as the moon, lighting up the room.

She gasps her need against Jillian’s lips, hips against hips. They’re skin to skin, stripped bare in more ways than one, fingers resting just away from where she wants them. An easy sort of agony, a building ache.

 _Please_.

-

Sometimes they are rough. Sometimes they use teeth and claws, turning each other’s bodies in canvases of blue and purple and red, marks that linger long after the night fades away. They wear them proudly, badges of honor and loving and _belonging_.

Mostly, they are gentle.

Hands trace ribs and hipbones, lips glide across tender skin, fingers entwine. They let heat build and desire grow, slowly and carefully, urging it upward like a bonfire flicking toward the sky. They are in no rush, because in these moments it is only them, and they are the only ones that matter.

Either way, though, love sings through in every movement, because Jillian is Erin’s and Erin is hers, and they whisper consent in the darkest hours of the night, because even when they are rough they are tender.

-

She lets herself get lost in Jillian’s touch. She closes her eyes and twists her hips and arches her neck, gasping for air, gasping for _more_ , and Jillian is whispering words softly in her ear, bringing a flush to her cheeks.

Hands clutching at Jillian’s back, curling in blonde hair, sobbing with _need_.

She drinks in Jillian. Jillian above her, Jillian inside her.

They are puzzle pieces fitting together, two halves of a whole, cloaked in darkness like a blanket, and no one else is here, and Erin lets Jillian watch her fall apart.

She clenches, twists, trembles.

She shakes herself to pieces.

 _Jillian, Jillian, Jillian_.

-

Jillian traces her scars with her fingertips, mapping Erin’s past.

Bumps from childhood bike crashes and sidewalk falls, raised pathways from surgeries, thin lines on her thighs, light and faded, speaking of hopelessness and suffocating darkness.

Jillian understands, kisses her scars like they’re precious things, kisses away the pain.

-

Sometimes, she worries she’ll wake up one morning and she’ll be gone, that she’ll be tired of Erin.

She whispers in the night, letting secrets fall off her tongue like music, and Jillian holds her closer.

They are bond, tethered by their hearts, caged animals reaching for each other, held back by ribcages that ache and bend beneath the strain. Palms on chests, feeling the thud, thud, thud, hearts beating in rhythm.

Beating to the rhythm of Erin, of Jillian, of each other.

 _I’ll never leave you_.

-

She is beautiful. She is breathless gasps and begging moans.

She is beautiful. She is clutching hands and digging fingernails, scrabbling to get some sort of purchase against the _heat_.

She is beautiful. She is wanting and desire and she looks at Erin like Erin is the most beautiful thing she has ever seen.

-

They are two bodies curled under white sheets, unable to stop touching. Hands map each other’s curves, unable to believe that this is real, that this is not an exquisite, magical dream.

They are learning each other’s bodies night by night. They are learning love, and it glows bright and beautiful between them, an almost tangible thing, shining threads strong as iron connecting them, binding them together.

They are specks in the vastness of the universe, but they have found each other and now they have they hold tight, whispering words of love like lullabies in the night.

 _You’ll always have me_.

-

She knows Jillian’s body as well as she knows her own. She knows the way to make her gasp and moan and _beg_. She knows the curve of her smile and the scrunch of her nose and the blush of her chest when Erin kisses her there and touches her here.

Jillian knows Erin’s body, too, and they taste and touch and learn in the soft darkness of her apartment, and afterwards they curl together, animals in their hearts and fireflies in their veins, unwilling, unwanting to let go.

Their names are prayers on the other’s lips, falling from their mouths like poetry, silky and soft and familiar. It’s as if they’ve waited for their entire lives to find each other, and now they have, they’ll never be apart again.

 _Never let me go_.

-

**Author's Note:**

> I'm going to ask again: WHO LET THE ACE WRITE A SEX SCENE? Hopefully it's not totally awful. I did feel like I needed to include it, though, because I think sex scenes are a great way of showing off the relationship between two characters.
> 
> Also I've had the phrase "an easy sort of agony" stuck in my head for WEEKS after I used it in one of my novels and I knew I needed to use it for a Holtzbert 'fic, so...y'know. Sex scene.
> 
> Also 1k words of a fic written in this style takes me twice as long in as in my regular style, so hopefully it's worth it. 
> 
> I hope you guys liked this!


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